


Aegis

by f0rcryin0utl0ud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rcryin0utl0ud/pseuds/f0rcryin0utl0ud
Summary: When he was four years old, his mother and his childhood disappeared in a cloud of acrid, black smoke and a house engulfed in screaming flames.
Kudos: 1





	Aegis

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old SPN fic I never got around to posting. Written in the first or second season of the show, so obviously before .

When he was four years old, his mother and his childhood disappeared in a cloud of acrid, black smoke and a house engulfed in screaming flames. He doesn't remember everything that happened in the year that followed his mother's death, the year his father slowly began to slip away from him to become a hunter out for vengeance. But what he does remember, he remembers with crystal clarity. 

After their mother died, they stayed with one of their father's old military buddies and his wife. In the beginning their father wouldn't let them out of sight, and to be honest Dean had no intention of leaving his father's side or Sam's. He'd already lost his mother, he couldn't lose anyone else. He'd spent the first month in near silence, not able to wrap his young mind around what happened to his mom, unable to understand why she wasn't coming back. 

Even though he was only four years old and struggling with his own acceptance of what happened, Dean grew up fast. What happened to their mother had left their father a shell of his former self. He spent his days muttering to himself about things that left Dean scared to close his eyes and his nights drowning in a bottle of whiskey. As each week and month passed, when they should have been settling down, beginning their life again, John Winchester pulled farther and farther away from his two boys and left Dean to be sole provider of comforting words and touches for his baby brother. 

At night, when their father sat outside, drinking himself ever closer to oblivion, Dean would crawl into Sammy's crib, arms wrapping protectively around the small body of his brother, needing to be close. In the morning his father would wake him, eyes full of pain even as he smiled, ruffling Dean's hair and lifting Sammy out of the crib. 

When Sammy turned one, Dean had been the one to quietly ask Kate, Mike's wife, to make a birthday cake--had grinned when she let him help her while Sammy squealed in delight from the playpen set up in the kitchen. Then Dean had studiously set about making Sammy a birthday card, crayons flying over the paper as he drew balloons and a cake. He smiled in relief when Mike had agreed to take him in town to buy Sammy a birthday present with the money Pastor Jim had slipped him two weeks before. 

His father had left early that morning, kissing Dean on the forehead, stroking Sammy's chubby cheek and telling them both to be good. Dean didn't know if his father remembered it was Sam's birthday, was afraid to ask Mike and Kate, sure he didn't really want to know the answer. 

That night Kate had made hot dogs and French fries, letting Sammy squash the cooled fries between fat fingers. Dean let Sam curl frosting coated fingers in his hair, leaned in and hugged his little brother, placing the unwrapped teddy bear he'd bought in front of him, throat tight in pleasure when Sammy had squealed, hands clenching and unclenching with arms wide when he saw the bear.

Sammy slept with the bear every night after that for the next four years until they'd accidentally left it behind in a little town in Georgia when they'd needed to clear out and fast. He'd cried for three days until Dean had begged his father to let him buy Sammy another one. 

On Dean's fifth birthday, eyes still clouded with sleep, he woke to a familiar scent. Sammy was curled beside him, sound asleep, his father still not home. Mike and Kate were asleep in their room down the hall. Dean's heart beat faster, throat closing, and eyes watering as he stared into the smiling face of his mother. Her long blonde hair, shining as brightly as the glowing white dress she wore. She reached out, gently running her fingers through Sammy's soft hair before turning back to Dean.

She sat beside him, as real as if she were still alive, folding his shaking body against her own, stroking his hair and whispering quietly in his ear. He remembers her telling him that she loved him, that she would always love him, that she was sorry she had to go away, that she couldn't stay with them, all the while gently wiping away the tears on Dean's face as his arms tightened around her waist. She told him that he had to be strong, for Dad and for Sammy--that he needed to protect Sammy like a good big brother. 

She didn't tell him what he'd need to protect Sammy from, instead pulling him onto her lap, rocking him as she hummed a familiar lullaby. Dean fell asleep with a promise on his lips.

When he woke up in the morning, Sammy was playing with a small gold pendant hanging around Dean's neck. A fleeting voice that sounded like the mother he missed so much, whispered in the back of his mind. For protection. 

The night after his fifth birthday, his father bundled him and Sammy up, disappearing into the night, away from Mike and Kate's, away from Lawrence and leading them into a war that would last their entire lives. 

Twenty two years later, Dean still wore the gift his mother had given him. Glancing out of the corner of his eye towards Sam, asleep in the passenger seat, his grief over losing Jess still fresh, Dean thought of a promise whispered to a ghost so many years ago. Sam would be fine--Dean wouldn't let anything happen to him...he promised.


End file.
